


Girl Talk

by Jay_Wells



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Dating, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Poverty Anxiety, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7948264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washinton, Jefferson, Hamilton and Burr talk to their daughters about growing up.<br/>The first chapter is father-daughter, the second will be mother-daughter.</p><p>TOLoAH Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ Boys _

Patsy was coloring on the living room floor, biting her lip and furrowing her brows in concentration. Martha was quietly reading a book next to him. Even Jacky seemed calm and was playing a game of solitaire, albeit with his back turned to George. 

George, for his part, was enjoying himself immensely. He was thirty, happy with his career and married to the love of his life with two beautiful children, even if one was indifferent to him. It was like a storybook and he loved it. Everyone was happy, they were safe and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

When Patsy finished her picture, she put stood up and handed it to George and Martha. “Mommy, Daddy, this is for you.” George was about to compliment its fridge-worthiness when she casually added. “Yesterday at school, Mark wanted to color with me.”

George felt like he’d fallen from a tree, like he’d been hit by a train, like a hail of bullets was descending on him from above. Martha opened her mouth before seeing his horrified expression and shut it again to hold in a giggle. She smirked, but George didn’t see the amusing aspect. Patsy was  _ starting to like boys _ . No, that couldn’t be right. She wasn’t old enough, was she? Eight was certainly too young to like boys. 

This seemed rather early for this talk, but George was determined to be a good father, so he started the speech. He had rehearsed it many times, though he assumed he would get more practice time. “Patsy, I want you to know that when young women reach a certain age … ” He trailed off when he noticed Martha had gone bug-eyed trying to contain her laughter.

Patsy giggled. “Daddy, boys got cooties, ‘cept you and Jacky. I told Mark I didn’t wanna color with him.”

George exhaled. 

“I think what your father is trying to say that if you ever  _ do _ like boys, you can tell us. That goes for you too, Jacky, if you ever meet a girl,” Martha said. The boy groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. “ _ Mom. _ ”

Patsy was still giggling. “You’re so silly, Daddy.”

  
  


_ Growing Up _

 

“Daddy, can I talk to you?” Marty asked from the doorway to his office. “It’s real important.”

Thomas glanced up from his book and was surprised to see a look of fear on his daughter’s face. “Come in.”

She scurried in and curled up at his feet. “Daddy, I think I hurt myself.”

“What?” She was ten years old. He let her go outside for half an hour by herself the day before. They were alone on the property, so he thought she’d be safe, but he should have know better. There was who knows how many things that can hurt a child no matter where you were. “Why do you think that?”

“I’m bleedin’ and my belly hurts.” 

_ Don’t let your children see you afraid. It’ll just scare her. _ “Where are you bleeding?”

She blushed and her eyes flicked down unvoluntarily, and Thomas felt relieved. He knew what was happening. 

“Oh, hon, you’re not hurt.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re just growing up. Do you want me to call Mrs. Clark and ask her to talk to you about it?”

“What’s ‘it’?” Marty’s face was now inquisitive. 

His face heated now that the relief had faded. He really wished Martha was here now. He prided himself on being a man of science, but explaining this to his daughter was just … he’d thought he’d have a little more time. “It’s a part of growing up for girls.”

She started to cry and buried her face in his lap. “I don’t wanna grow up.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a part of life.” He patted her hair.

“Grown-ups gotta go away.” Martha would murder him if she knew how much he was letting the girls’ grammar slip, but he hadn’t the heart to correct them these past few months and now didn’t seem a good time to start. “I don’t want to leave.”

“No, no,” he assured and pulled her into the chair with him. She was getting too big for this, but she seemed comforted by it. “Hon, you don’t ever have to leave, even if you grow up. You’ll always be my little girl. I won’t ever make you leave. Besides, this is just a  _ part _ of growing up. You still got a long, long ways.”

“Pinky promise?”

“You got it.”

  
  


_ Clothes _

Alexander was hunched over his computer outside of the ladies’ changing room hunched over his computer. “Angie, are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” The exasperation was so evident that he could hear her eyes roll. A few minutes later, she came back out wearing a pair of ripped jeans. “I hate the dress. I don’t know why, but it just sucks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not buying you that.”

“Why not?” She raised an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “They meeting the dress code.”

“Because they look like they fell off a truck on the highway.” He closed his laptop. “Put them back. The jeans you tried on earlier were fine -- get another pair of those in a different color.”

“Dad!” Angie’s jaw dropped. Then she shut it, tossed her curly hair and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

 

On the car ride back, Angie was clearly annoyed.

Alexander sighed. “Ange, I know you’re mad. The clothes we bought looked nice.”

She didn’t say anything. 

“I just don’t know why you want clothes with tears in them already.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “When I was your age, I only got new clothes once a year, if that. If I grew out of the clothes I had, I got hand-me-downs. Sometimes new clothes came from garage sales.”

Angie still wasn’t responding, but he knew was listening.

“I’m your parent. I’m supposed to buy you the things you need. I know logically that you getting a little dirty or a your clothes a little raggedy won’t hurt you, but it makes me feel anxious -- like I’m not taking care of you the way I should.”

The car was quiet for a while. 

Then Angie laid her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Dad.”

  
  


_ Dances _

Burr winced when the door slammed open. Theo stomped into the room, soaking wet and grumbling. She dropped her bag onto the desk and sat down on the four-legged stool in the corner of the office. Her eyeliner was running down her face. Burr sat down the book he was reading and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“You’re home early. What happened?”

She angrily pulled one of the glittering bobby pins out of her hair. “Joe was twenty minutes late to the restaurant, with no explanation or apology and then, when we got to the dance, he ignored me.” She added bitterly, “He danced with every girl but me.”

It was storming outside. “Honey, why didn’t you call me.”

“I was embarrassed.” Theo pulled out a few more pins and piled them on the desk. “I called Angie, and she and Mrs. Hamilton came and picked me up. You weren’t expecting me back until late, so Mrs. Hamilton took us out for some ice cream before bringing me back.”

“Theo, you should have called me when you left the dance,” Burr said firmly. “I didn’t know where you were. I just assumed you’d be there.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t think of it.” She sounded genuinely remorseful and tired.

He sighed and hugged her. “That’s because you’re not a parent yet. You don’t worry about these things. Just don’t do it again.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry your boyfriend ditched you.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “Boys will be boys, I guess.”

“I thought I raised you better,” he admonished. “That was a shitty thing for him to do to you, and he did it because he doesn’t emphasize with other people. Go get some sleep. I’m taking you to the zoo tomorrow. Angie can come too if you want.”

She laughed a little and hiccuped. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Pressure _

Theo stepped off the bus from her first day of school dejected. “Mama, can I change my name?”

Theodosia took the five-year-old’s hand and led her down the sidewalk. “Why would you want that, Theo?”

“‘Cause no one can spell ‘Theodosia’. Not even Mr. Franklin. He spelled it wrong on  _ all _ my papers,” Theo said. “ _ And _ Evie said that Theo wasn’t a girl name.”

“Theo is a girl’s name.” She knelt down to her daughter’s level. “You’re a girl, aren’t you?”

“That’s why I need a girl name,” she insisted. “So other people know.”

Theodosia put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Theo, sweetie, do you know you’re a girl?” 

Theo nodded. 

“Does your Daddy know? Does your auntie know? Do I know?” 

She nodded again. 

“Is there anyone who loves you who  _ doesn’t _ know?” Theodosia asked, waiting for the girl to shake her head. “Then don’t worry, lady. Your name is fine. It’s part of your identity, so don’t let them ruin it for you.”

Theo didn’t reply. After several minutes of silence, Theodosia sighed and stood up. They walked home without another word spoken between them. When she kissed her daughter good night, she told her, “If you want to wear that dress we bought for your auntie’s wedding tomorrow, you can.”

The next morning, though, she was in jeans and tennis shoes again. “I can’t play in that dress, Mommy,” she said, matter-of-fact. “The other kids will have to get over themselves.”

A warm glow of pride filled Theodosia’s chest. “That’s my girl.”

 

_ Baking _

Martha set the oven to preheat and clapped her hands cheerfully. “You ready to get baking, Mary?”

“Yeah!” Mary crawled up onto her chair, armed with a wooden spoon and an apron that hung almost to her ankles. 

The ingredients were lined up across the counter -- flour, sugar, milk, butter, eggs, chocolate chips and baking powder. Martha filled a measuring cup neatly with flour. “Baking is a science, Mary. You have to be very exact.”

“Uh huh.” She watched intently as Martha filled the bowl with some of the ingredients. 

“Do you know why we put the dry ones in first?” she quizzed. 

Mary bounced on her toes. “To get ‘em all mixed up before we add in the liquid ones.”

“Very good.” Marta tugged gently on her braid. “And since sugar melts in the oven, we put it in with the liquids.”

 

When Mary finished stirring, Martha let her break the eggs in a separate bowl so that she could check them for bits of shell. She was proud that her daughter only dropped to very small pieces with the eggs, and they were easily fished out. 

She stirred persistently, humming tunelessly until the oven dinged.

“O. K., now we’re putting it on the cooking sheet. I’m going to help you because you need to make sure they aren’t so close together that they become one big cookie.” Martha dug through the chaotic large utensil drawer until she found the dipper and brandished at Mary. “Aha!”

“Momma, you’re so silly,” Mary laughed, her curls bouncing joyfully.

They carefully moved the batter onto the sheet in round circles and Martha slid it into the oven.

“We’ll take them back out in fifteen minutes,” she explained.

 

The cookies came out golden-brown and soft. 

Mary reached up to grab one. “They look tasty.”

When Martha saw the little chubby hand reaching for the sheet, she smacked it, snapping, “No, Mary!”

Mary snatched her hand back and peered at her through dark lashes. “Momma?”

“Don’t touch things that just came out of the oven, Mary. You could get burned.” 

 

_ Sick _

Eliza gasped when she heard the telephone’s sharp ring in the office. She took a moment  to gather her bearings and answered. “Hello, this is Elizabeth Hamilton at the Cruz Children’s Home.”

“Mom, can you come get me?” Angie’s voice sounded teary and was barely audible over the phone.

“Honey, are you alright?” Eliza grabbed a sticky note and scribbled where a memo in case Juana checked in before she got back.

“Yeah, I just need you to come get me.” 

She stood up and grabbed her purse “Okay, Angie. Wait for me in the office.”

“Please hurry.”

 

Angie was curled up in a miserable ball on a plastic chair in the office. She jumped when Eliza entered but made no move to stand up. Eliza quickly signed her daughter out and they left the office. “Angie, what’s the issue? You usually don’t call me at work.”

“My stomach hurts,” she mumbled. “And I, uh, ran out of pads.” She whispered it like it was a shameful secret.

Eliza guided her toward the restroom and dug one of the extra pads she kept in her purse for emergencies. “Go change. I’ll wait for you. We can talk in the car.”

She hurried to the restroom and returned to the lobby a few minutes later. “Done.”

“Feel better?” Eliza rubbed her back gently as they exited the building.

“Mhm.” She tilted her head.

 

In the car, Eliza turned the radio off. “I sent you to school with an extra pad. What happened? Was is that heavy, or -- ”

“Mom,  _ stop _ .” Angie leaned her head against the passenger seat. “It fell out of my pocket in biology, and I didn’t notice, but one of the boys did. He jumped out of his seat and pointed at it and started shouting, and all the other boys joined in.” Her face was bright red and she swallowed before continuing. “Mrs. Carson told them to knock it off, they all knew what it was, and she picked it up and put it in her desk drawer and said if it belonged to anyone to see her after class and she’d return it gladly.”

“Why didn’t you get it back?” Eliza took a left toward her office. Angie could take some Tylenol and sleep in the break room.

She groaned. “Then everybody would know, Mom. It’s embarrassing.”

“You were clearly uncomfortable,” she pointed out. “It just a period, Angie. Women have them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“They’d make fun of me.” Angie crossed her arms and glared straight ahead. “Periods are gross.”

“That’s how life is made, Angie.” Eliza parked the car. “It’s not gross. If you ever run out of pads, let me know. And feel so ashamed. It’s not a crime.”

Not long ago, Theodosia Burr would’ve been able to tell her how to help her daughter better. The woman always had a way of boosting the girls’ confidence with a few a words, but Theodosia was gone.

 

_ Fear _

Patsy approached her mother on her seventeenth birthday, shifting from foot to foot and not looking the same place twice. The low light cast eerie shadows on her thin face.

Martha sat her magazine down. “What is it, Pats?”

“Momma, am I going to die? From my illness?” She refused to meet her eyes.

“Patsy, where is this coming from?” Martha was alarmed. Patsy had been out of the hospital for two months, surely she wasn't sick again.

She breathed in and exhaled slowly. “I haven’t felt too good in a while. I wanted to talk to somebody, and Jacky’s at college and Daddy panics if I start talkin’ like this.”

It was true. Jack, who only let Patsy still call him Jacky, was away at Columbia, six hours by bus, without a phone. And George was good in a crisis … when there was a known enemy. Patsy was fighting against her own brain and heart.

“Patsy, I know it’s scary to think about, but it won’t come to that. The doctors are taking good care of you.”

The teen stared back at her, pity on her face. “I’ve made my peace, if it happens. You and Daddy haven’t.”

Children weren’t supposed to die before their mothers. Martha smiled reassuringly at Patsy, sure that it would be alright and that she was only overreacting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Eliza and Angie provided by schuylergirls.tumblr.com


End file.
